And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage to face it. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. The Storm. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets.
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